Hirundo bowed to King Grus. "Well, Your Majesty, you were right."
"You say the sweetest things," Grus answered, and the general guffawed. Grus went on, "Here he comes now. Look ferocious."
"Grr." Hirundo bared his teeth. Grus glared at him – that was overacting at its worst. But the Menteshe riding in under a flag of truce was still too far away to notice his mugging. By the time the nomad and the Avornan cavalrymen surrounding him drew near, Hirundo was somber as a pyre builder. Given his usual high spirits, that was overacting, too, but the Menteshe wouldn't recognize it as such.
The fellow swung down off his horse. Two royal guardsmen strode up to him, their boots scuffing up little puffs of gray dust at each step. The Menteshe knew what they had in mind. He surrendered his weapons without any fuss, even a slim knife he carried in his boot. When the guardsmen were satisfied, they stepped aside. The Menteshe bowed low to Grus.
"Good day, Your Majesty," he said in fluent Avornan. "I am Falak son of Yinal, and I have the honor to represent Prince Korkut, the son and heir of the great Prince Ulash." He bowed again. He had a proud, hawk-nosed face with broad cheekbones and elegant eyebrows above dark eyes stubbornly unimpressed by anything they chanced to light upon – the King of Avornis very much included.
"Pleased to meet you," Grus said politely. "And what can I do for you on this fine day?" It was, in fact, a beastly hot day. Grus had gotten used to the weather in the city of Avornis and in the cool, misty Chernagor country to the north. Southern spring and approaching summer were reminding him how fierce they could be.
"We have not seen Avornans here for many long years," Falak said. "You would do well to remember what happened to the ones who came before you."
"I remember," Grus replied. "You would do well to remember we can take care of ourselves. So would Korkut. And so would the Banished One." Maybe that last was bravado. No – certainly it was bravado. But if it weren't also what Grus believed, he never would have crossed the Stura in the first place.
One of Falak's elegant eyebrows rose. His eyes widened ever so slightly. He hadn't expected Grus to give back arrogance for arrogance. "You dare speak of the Fallen Star so?" he whispered. "You have, perhaps, more nerve than you know what to do with."
"Perhaps I'll take the chance," Grus said. "I asked you once before – what can I do for you? And for Prince Korkut, I assume?"
He wondered if Falak would try to order him out of the Menteshe country. He intended to say no if Falak did, but it would tell him how confident Korkut was. But Falak did nothing of the sort. Instead, he said, "My master knows you have seen many rebels since you became King of Avornis."
'True," Grus admitted. And not only was it true, it was also shrewd. Korkut showed more wits than Grus had thought he owned.
Falak went on, "Since this is true, you will understand how my master feels when he faces a rebellion against him."
"Oh, I don't know. Quite a few people would say Sanjar has a better claim to Ulash's throne than Korkut does," Grus said.
"Quite a few people are liars and cheats. It is unfortunate, but it is true," Falak said. "I would not want to number the King of Avornis among them."
"You would make a mistake if you did. You might be making your last mistake if you did." Hirundo sounded hard as iron, sharp as a spearhead.
Falak son of Yinal bowed to him. "I have done no such thing, Your Excellency." He was a cool customer, all right. Turning back to Grus, he said, "Since you have come into my master's lands with an army behind you, he dares hope you have come to help him defeat the would-be usurper."
Did Korkut really hope that? Grus didn't believe it for a minute. Did the Menteshe hope to use the Avornans against his unloved half brother? That struck the king as a lot more likely. He said, "Sanjar hopes I'll do the same thing against Korkut, you know."
"He would," Falak said scornfully. "He has no chance to defeat my master on his own, and he knows it only too well."
"I'm not so sure about that – and neither is Korkut, or he wouldn't have sent you to me," Grus said. Falak only shrugged, neither admitting nor denying. He knew his business; Grus would have been glad to have a man of his talents on the Avornan side. The king continued, "I have nothing against either prince. But I also have no reason to love either of them."
Falak smiled thinly. "By which you mean you will help the man who gives you the most."
Grus smiled back. "By which I mean exactly that, yes."
"My master will meet any price within his ability," Korkut's emissary said. "Tell me yours, so I may take it to him."
"The Scepter of Mercy."
Falak's face froze. That jolted him no less than it had Sanjar's envoy. He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "That, I am afraid, is not within his ability to give."
"Why not? It's in Yozgat, isn't it? He holds Yozgat, doesn't he? Or has Sanjar taken it away from him in the last few days?"
"Sanjar has done no such thing," Falak said indignantly. "My master does hold Yozgat. And the Scepter of Mercy is there. I have seen it with my own eyes." Grus was suddenly as jealous as a lovesick youth seeing the girl of his dreams walking with someone else, someone he couldn't stand. Falak either didn't notice or, more likely, affected not to. "My master could not yield it up, though. The Fallen Star – "
"Has nothing to do with it," Grus broke in. "Is your master his own master, or is he not?"
"Prince Korkut owns no man his master. That includes you, Your Majesty," Falak said pointedly.
So there, Grus thought. But it wasn't enough of a so there to slow him down. "That's nice," he said. "It doesn't answer the question I asked, though. Is he his own master or not? If he is, will he give me the Scepter of Mercy in exchange for help against Sanjar? If he isn't, why am I wasting my time talking to you? Let the Banished One send me an envoy if he wants something from me."
Now Falak bared his teeth in what looked like a smile but wasn't. "Be careful what you ask for. You may get it."
Grus pretended less concern than he felt. "Avornis has met his envoys before. The last one came to tell us everyone in the capital would starve to death in the coming winter. You see how true that turned out to be." He remembered the winter the Banished One had sent Avornis. He hadn't been king yet; he'd been down in the south, and it was appalling even there. It had been worse up at the city of Avornis, but the city – and the kingdom – came through. How close it had been
… He preferred not to think about that, and so he didn't.
Falak bowed. "Say what you will. I see this discussion is pointless. If you and Korkut meet, it will be on the field. And if the Fallen Star does deign to notice your nerve, may you have joy of it." He bowed again, then bounded up into the saddle. He jerked savagely at the reins to turn his horse's head and trotted back toward the south. Hirundo waved to the scouts who'd brought him in. They rode off, too, to return Falak's weapons to him and to escort him out beyond the Avornans' lines.
"As you say, Your Majesty, it was worth asking." Hirundo shrugged. "Too bad he told you no, too."
"Now we have some idea about which of Ulash's sons is more in awe of the Banished One," Grus said. "Sanjar might have given up the Scepter if he'd had it. Maybe I should have thrown in with him."
The general shook his head. "I doubt it. If he did hold the Scepter of Mercy, he'd've hung on to it just like Korkut. It's a lot easier to think about giving away something you haven't got." He stared south. The dust their horses kicked up began to swallow Falak and his Avornan escorts.
"I suppose you're right. No, I know you're right," Grus said. "We just have to go on, then. And if the Banished One does send an envoy" – he shuddered – "well, we'll deal with that as best we can, too."